Chapter 9: The Burn Beneath the Ice
The next morning dawned grey and thick with mist, casting the city in a quiet hush, as if the sky itself knew something was shifting.
Elara stood by the penthouse window, holding a cup of untouched tea. Below, traffic crawled like ants. Above, clouds hung low and heavy, the kind that promised storms.
She hadn't slept.
Not because she was afraid.
But because for the first time in weeks, she knew something that made her dangerous.
Damien's study was locked again.
Not that it mattered, she had made a copy of the keycard. He hadn't noticed. Or maybe he had, and chose to let her think otherwise.
Their cold war had become something else entirely now, a game of veiled truths and sharp-edged trust.
He entered the room without knocking, dressed in all black. No tie. No smile.
"You're up early," he said, his voice rough.
"You didn't come to bed."
"I was working."
"I saw the file, Damien."
He paused. Just long enough to let her know he'd heard her. Then, quietly, "I know."
They stared at each other, the air between them buzzing with tension. Not hatred anymore. Not exactly.
She folded her arms. "Why didn't you tell me what Julian's family did?"
"Because I needed to be sure whose side you were on."
"You really still think I could betray you?"
"Everyone is capable of betrayal. Especially when they're desperate."
Elara stepped closer, feeling the pull of heat in her chest. "I'm not desperate anymore. I'm furious."
His mouth twitched into something like a smile, but not quite. "Good. Use that."
Later that day, she returned to the Arclight Foundation's charity wing, the public side of the company where Damien rarely showed his face. But Elara had taken an interest in the programs, especially the youth development fund that Luca had once applied to, before everything fell apart.
Her assistant, Naomi, a no-nonsense woman with sharp glasses and sharper instincts, handed her a folder as she walked in.
"We got an inquiry this morning. From a donor asking questions about the Vance account. The ghost account, as they called it."
Elara frowned. "What do you mean?"
Naomi lowered her voice. "There's a dormant endowment fund registered under the Vance name. It's been untouched for three years. But someone made a request to audit it."
"Who?"
Naomi glanced around, then leaned in. "Julian Cross. His legal team. They're digging."
Elara felt a shiver run down her spine. The game wasn't just about her marriage anymore. It was about her family's legacy.
She spent the rest of the day trying to focus on meetings, reviewing grant proposals, but her mind kept slipping. That name, Julian Cross, kept ringing in her ears like a warning bell.
That evening, Damien didn't come home.
He sent a message instead. One sentence:
"Board dinner. Don't wait up."
Elara ignored it.
She changed into a black silk dress, twisted her hair into a low knot, and ordered a car.
Julian wanted to play games?
Let's see how he reacted when she walked into the lion's den uninvited.
The restaurant was private, upscale, filled with steel and glass and people with money in their veins instead of blood.
Julian sat at the head of a long table with two Arclight board members—old men with slow eyes. He was laughing. Charming.
Until he saw her.
"Elara," he said, rising. "What a surprise."
She offered a tight smile. "I heard you were planning my family's post mortem. I figured I should be present for the autopsy."
Julian dismissed the others with a wave. "Gentlemen, if you'll excuse us."
They left with polite nods, already bored.
Julian sat back down. "I assume Damien knows you're here."
"No," she said. "But you knew that already."
He tilted his head. "You found the files."
"I did."
"And now?"
"I want answers," she said. "Real ones."
He studied her face for a long moment. "Your mother made a deal. With mine. Vance Corp. was bleeding money and needed a partner. My father offered one, but it came at a price. When your father refused, she went around him."
Eara's heart thudded. "Why would she do that?"
"To protect you, supposedly. She wanted to keep your reputation clean."
He sipped his wine. "But deals made in shadows always come due in the light."
"Was the collapse her fault?"
"Not entirely. But she let it happen when she could've stopped it."
He leaned forward, voice softening. "I never meant to hurt you, Elara. But you were part of a machine I needed to dismantle."
"Spare me the noble justification," she snapped. "You used me. Lied to me. And now you want to rewrite the past like it was strategy."
Julian stood slowly. "You're not just a pawn. You're the queen now. But remember, queens fall too."
Elara stood, trembling. "Don't contact me again."
"You'll come back," he said, quietly. "Because Damien's world is built on secrets. And you're already in too deep."
When she got home, Damien was there.
Sitting on the floor, tie loosened, glass in hand.
He didn't look up when she walked in.
"I saw Julian," she said.
"I know."
"You had me followed?"
"Of course," he replied, flat. "You think I'd let you near him alone?"
Elara sat across from him. Not close. But not far.
"He told me my mother might've helped orchestrate the Vance collapse."
Damien swirled the drink in his hand. "She's not innocent."
"Neither are you."
"No. But I don't pretend to be."
She looked at him, her voice shaking now. "What do you want from me, Damien? Am I just a weapon you aim at your enemies?"
He finally looked up.
"No," he said. "You're the only thing that makes me hesitate"
Her breath caught. She hated how much that affected her.
He stood slowly, walking past her.
But before disappearing down the hallway, he said over his shoulder:
"When the time comes, Elara... don't hesitate."
Elara didn't sleep that night either.
She sat on the balcony, wind catching her robe like the wings of a wounded bird, laptop in her lap. She reopened the Vance trust account files. Studied every transaction. Every timestamp.
Then she saw it.
A wire transfer from Vance Corp. to a shell company registered under a false name.
Damien's mother.
Her blood ran cold.
The past wasn't buried. It was waiting.
And the war she thought had already begun… was still only a prelude.